


Folie à Deux

by eatdirt



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Chorus Trilogy, M/M, Oral Sex, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 16:08:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14572641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eatdirt/pseuds/eatdirt
Summary: The fire blazing underneath Simmons is raging so hot that he’s honestly amazed he hasn’t disintegrated yet. Guys tell each other sexual conquest stories all the time. Simmons knows this because he’s been an eavesdropper more times than he’d like to admit. But this isn’t a couple of buds trading stories to one-up each other. This is something else entirely, and Simmons doesn’t know whether the electric current in his chest is excitement or dread for what’s to come.





	Folie à Deux

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [RvB Rare Pair Week](https://rvbrarepairweek.tumblr.com/).

They’re going to die out here, probably.

Sarge is always barking at him to ‘stop being such a drama queen, Whitney Houston,’ but Simmons can’t help it. It’s war. War is where people die. Even people stationed in the middle of nowhere with no enemy to fight can die.

Or, they could just cease to exist entirely. No fanfare, no fuss. Simmons doesn’t know which would be worst. 

He’s on lookout duty this week. What he’s looking out for in a crash site in the middle of nowhere, he’s not sure. But he doesn’t question direct orders. 

Normally this job is done alone. He doesn’t really mind being alone since this is one of the rare moments where he’s allowed some peace and quiet. But since their shaky truce with the Blues has been tested has started insisting on having a Blue up here with him. _So you can keep an eye out for any Blue mischievousness_ , was the reasoning. 

Today the Blue is Tucker, which isn’t so bad. Better than Caboose, who never stops talking, and who Simmons had to stop from accidentally walking over the ledge— _twice_ —the last time. And better than Wash, who admittedly still makes him feel more than a little nervous. 

Tucker is surprisingly okay company. It’s the first time they’ve very hung out one-on-one, and he hasn’t ranted about girls or sex or other graphic things he normally reveled at subjecting those in his presence to. In fact, Simmons thinks as he glimpses Tucker’s stony face out of the corner of his eye, Tucker may be a little _too_ quiet. He didn’t think that was possible.

“Can I ask you something?” Tucker says suddenly. 

Simmons sighs. “If you’re gonna ask me why we’re here—”

Tucker laughs. “No, I know why we’re here. We’re here because we’re idiots. Well, you guys are idiots. And Caboose. Caboose is an idiot.”

Tucker pulls the band from his ponytail and the tendrils of his dreadlocks cascade stiffly over his shoulders. Their armor lies abandoned behind them, safety traded in for comfort. Simmons doesn’t know what they would need to be safe against when it’s just them, but given the Blues track record with taking out their own, he figures they’re pretty much gambling with fate here.

When Tucker speaks again his voice is soft and contemplative. “You think we’re gonna die here, Simmons?”

The question startles him. “What?”

Tucker shrugs. “I don’t mean in an emo, existential crisis kinda way. I just mean, in your professional, nerd opinion, what are our chances of dying out here? Ballpark me.”

“I have to admit the thought has crossed my mind a few times. But, I mean, we did manage to make contact with Donut.”

Tucker rolls his eyes. “Exactly. We made contact with _Donut_.”

Simmons grimaces. “That’s true. Still, things always seem to work out for us. For a pair of ineffective soldiers in the middle of nowhere, we sure have an abundance of luck.”

“So what you’re saying is we’ll probably die but there’s a chance we might not?”

“Basically.”

“So it’s no different than how things are normally, then.”

“Pretty much.”

Tucker hums. “Is it weird that that’s strangely comforting?”

Simmons gives him a half-smile. “No, I feel you on that.”

A comfortable silence falls over them. The sun’s at its highest point, signaling midday is already on them and making Simmons wish he’d thought to bring sunscreen.

Sarge had said he’d wanted him back no later than 1400. He could probably grab his helmet and get a proper readout on the time. Surprisingly, he finds he doesn’t want to. It’s nice, sitting in the warmth of the sun with Tucker. Weird, but nice.

“You mind if I take this off?” Tucker asks, pointing at his shirt. 

Simmons briefly wonders why he’d need to ask permission to do that when he catches the black underneath it.

“Oh,” he says dumbly. He fumbles to recover and doesn’t avert his eyes because it feels damning doing so. He shrugs as nonchalantly as he possible. “I don’t care.”

He tells himself he’s not consciously looking away when Tucker’s hands start fumbling under his shirt. He lets out a sigh of relief and Simmons drags his gaze over to the black binder lying on the ground near Tucker’s feet. He looks away without _looking_ like he’s looking away, and does his best to act like everything’s casual. Just a normal day between friends. Except nothing about him has ever been casual, this whole situation isn’t normal, and he’s not really sure he and Tucker can even really be considered friends. 

“What’s the matter, Red?” Tucker asks suddenly. “You never seen a guy shirtless before?” 

“What? No, I—what? No,” Simmons splutters lamely, voice cracking at the end. He hopes he can blame the heat in his face on the sun. 

The truth is he has, but not a guy like Tucker. Not because Tucker’s trans, but because the only guys who go shirtless around him are Grif and Donut, neither of which are stunning options. Tucker’s not even shirtless, but his tank top is white and thin and doesn’t cover anything. He can see how toned Tucker is. The shirt falls just over his stomach and the sweat that’s collected there accentuate the faintest outline of abs. The dark brown color of his nipples stands out stark against the white shirt and remind Simmons of wood after the rain.

Tucker smirks sleazily. It’s the same look he gets before he says or does something overtly sexual and obnoxious, and Simmons braces himself for some obnoxious comment. 

He grabs the hem of his shirt and tugs it out until the outline of his breasts is gone, leaving his chest formless once again. “That better for you, _virgin_?”

It’s an especially hot day in the canyon. Simmons feels a trickle of sweat down his neck that makes him shiver despite the heat. He grumbles, “I’m not a—fuck you, Tucker.” Tucker folds over and laughs. Simmons clenches his fists in the fabric of his jeans. “And I don’t have a problem with your—with those—”

“ _Tits_ , Simmons,” Tucker sits back up and let’s his sweat-damp shirt fall back over his chest in emphasis. “They’re called _tits_.”

“I don’t have a problem with your _tits_ ,” Simmons spits the word. “I have a problem with you being a jerk.”

Tucker leans back on his elbows, stretching his body out on the grass. The ragged collar of his white shirt is stretched and damp with sweat. “Oh, lighten up. There’s nothing wrong with being a _virgin_.”

The sun is high in the sky, but Simmons knows there’s no way he can blame the sun for his red face. Not that Tucker would ever let him get away with the excuse anyway. “Shut up.”

Tucker narrows his eyes, calculating. Simmons wants to squirm under the scrutiny, but he steels himself in some show of misplaced bravado. God, he hates Blues so much. He hates his _life_ so much.

Then, Tucker’s mouth splits into the widest shit-eating grin Simmons has ever seen. “Oh my god, you _are_.”

Simmons feels like he’s been doused in a gasoline fire. No, he _wants_ to be doused in a gasoline fire. “ _Shut up_.”

Tucker’s laughter is loud and mocking. “Dude! How _old_ are you again?”

Simmons grinds his teeth together, a bad habit he’s never gotten around to kicking. “I said shut _up_ , Tucker.”

Tucker continues to cackle as he hunches his shoulders up to his ears, embarrassment like a flame licking at his face. That’s it, the comfortable and peaceful space being lookout has provided him is officially done. He’ll have to tell Sarge to put Grif on watch, which should work out fine since half of this ‘crucial duty’ is sitting on his fat ass anyway.

“Hey,” Tucker says, drawing Simmons out of his spiral. He sounds amused, but there’s a hint of concern in his voice that gives Simmons pause. He keeps his gaze locked on a boulder twenty yards away, refusing to give Tucker the attention he so clearly wants. “I’m just having some fun, man.”

“Yeah, fun for you.”

“Ugh, fine. I’m sorry, you big baby. Better?”

“I think the part where you called me a ‘big baby’ negates the sincerity of your apology.”

“Does you being a nerd negate your face?”

Simmons raises his glasses to pinch at his nose. Yep, that was definitely a migraine. “Oh no, you got me.”

“Jesus, Simmons, I don’t know why you’re acting like such a little bitch. That was basically a compliment.”

Simmons abandons his ‘don’t acknowledge Tucker’s physical existence with your eyes’ plan in favor of pinning him with the most scathing glare he can muster. 

“Calling me a nerd and a big baby is your idea of a compliment?”

Tucker shakes his head. “No, dipshit. I mean, you know, it’s hard to believe you’re still a virgin. You’re not a bad looking guy.”

Simmons blinks, shocked. “Really?”

Tucker shrugs a shoulder and starts dusting invisible dirt off his shirt. “Yeah. I mean, I’m not, like, gay, or anything, but objectively speaking? You’re probably the best looking Red on your team.”

That’s definitely a lie—Donut takes such good care of his skin you could literally eat off of it, as Grif has done a disturbing amount of times—but the sentiment is nice anyway. His face warms again, but not in the gasoline fire way. In the good way.

He smiles tentatively. “Thanks. Thank you, Tucker.”

This time Tucker’s the one avoiding eye contact. “Whatever, dude.”

The wispy cloud drifts across the sun, casting a darker hue over their cliff. Simmons sighs, thankful for the reprieve from the oppressive heat. 

“Y’know, you’re not too shabby yourself, Blue,” Simmons says after the comfortable silence has returned. The words tumble out of his mouth, awkward and out of place. If Sarge knew he was complimenting a Blue, he’d demote him lower than Grif. 

Tucker wrinkles his nose and snorts. “Keep it in your pants, Dick.”

Simmons almost chokes on his own spit. “I—I didn’t mean it like—”

Tucker snorts and shakes his head. “You seriously need to chill. I’m just messing with you.”

“I don’t think I’m a big fan of your sense of humor.”

“You get used to it.”

Simmons snorts. Tucker laughs and shakes his head. 

He’s suddenly aware of how far apart they are. They’ve been raising their voices to talk each other the entire time. It’s awkward, but he has to wonder if it would be more awkward to bridge the space between them.

Forcing down his anxiety, he gets up and crosses the cliff. Tucker watches him but doesn’t make a comment. He sits down next to him—close enough to be considered next to him, anyway—and does his best to look cool. Like he voluntarily hangs out with Blues all the time. Like he voluntarily hangs out with anyone at all, ever. It’s a poor attempt, but Tucker thankfully doesn’t call him out on it. 

“You should stop being so sensitive, you know,” Tucker grunts. “But, whatever. I’m sorry or something.”

“I can tell that came straight from the heart,” Simmons replies dryly. 

“There’s just no pleasing you, is there? You’re worse than Church.”

“I’ve been called a cold-hearted bitch a couple of times in my life, yes.”

They laugh.

It’s good.

Silence stretches between them easy, like before. Simmons knows there’s no one out here but them, but he scans the canyon anyway because that was a direct order. He doesn’t know if Wash is as serious about following direct orders as Sarge is, but Tucker doesn’t seem bothered either way. He picks dirt from under his nails lazily as the minutes tick by.

Finally, Tucker rubs his hands together like he’s trying to warm them up despite the heat. “So, you really never fucked anyone before?”

Simmons groans. “I thought we were going to drop this.”

“Well, what else is there to talk about out here?” He asks, waving his arms around the fast fields of rocky nothingness that is their new, hopefully temporary, home.

Simmons supposes he’s right. What else could they talk about? How shitty their situation was? That would only depress Simmons even more. Their shared interests? Simmons almost snorts out loud. Yeah, as if they have anything in common besides both being sucky losers on sucky teams in the middle of a sucky canyon.

He watches Tucker swipe his arm over his brow with a groan. His shirt is damp with sweat, accentuating his nipples and the delicate curve of his breast through the sweaty material.

He clears his throat and tries, “I’m not—I’m not totally a virgin, you know.”

Tucker’s eyebrows raise up so far Simmons is afraid they might float away. “Is that right?”

He nods casually like it’s no big deal. Like he talks about his scant sexual conquests with other guys all the time. “11th grade. Her name was Sasha Post. I’d had a crush on her since at least third grade.”

Tucker turns around so he’s facing Simmons directly. He rests his elbows on his legs and cradles his head in his hands. He looks exaggeratedly interested, but Simmons isn’t sure if it’s because he’s mocking him because he thinks the story will be lame, or if he’s mocking him because that’s just in his nature.

He continues anyway. “I sat behind her in AP Chemistry. She used this—this cherry shampoo stuff on her hair, and when she’d move her ponytail would swish around and I could smell it.”

“Well, that’s creepy.”

“Shut up. I was so into her, but I never in a million years thought she’d noticed me. Then one day a friend of hers came up to me and told me Sasha was into me and wanted me to come to her party that weekend.”

Tucker frowns. “Uh, I think I know where this is going.”

Simmons laughs helplessly. “And you would be right. I didn’t know at first it was a prank, though. I bought a new shirt, put a ridiculous amount of product in my hair, and got so nervous I showed up almost twenty minutes early. I tried to go the bold way and hit on her, but I realized pretty quickly that it was all a lie.”

“Sasha was nice about it. The guy she actually liked had shown up with his girlfriend from another school, so she was pretty bummed, too. We kind of just fell into bed together. Some, uh, some under the clothes stuff, a dry h-handjob. You know. I knew she wanted to go further, but I couldn’t shake off the embarrassment of finding out she didn’t really like me at all, and I’m just now realizing this story isn’t as sexy as I thought it was and now I’m embarrassed all over again. _Fuck_.”

His face burns hot. He can’t bring himself to look at Tucker. He just knows there’s some mocking, shit-eating grin on the bastard’s stupid face. What was he even doing out here telling Tucker sex stories? What had he been expecting?

“Dude, what a bitch,” Tucker says after ten excruciating seconds of awkward silence. “Not the shampoo girl, but her friend. Who does that?”

“Teenagers,” Simmons mumbles miserably.

Tucker shakes his head. “I don’t think I was that much of an asshole when I was seventeen.”

“What? You’re an asshole _now_.”

“Shut up!” Tucker laughs. A smile tugs on Simmons’ face helplessly at the sound.

“You wanna know about the first time I had sex?”

Tucker doesn’t have to fake being casual when he says it. He’s effortlessly shameless, and it’s only Simmons’ curiosity that keeps him from being too annoyed with that. He nods.

He leans back on his hands, still facing Simmons, and tilts his head back. “The academy, Leticia Auerbach.”

Simmons hides his surprise. You couldn’t join the academy until you were eighteen, which meant he lost his sorta-virginity before Tucker did. As much as he’s guessed Tucker lied about his trysts, that still feels wrong somehow.

Tucker goes on, oblivious. “She was this super stuck-up goth chick with these incredible boobs. She and her goth friends used to sit in the corner in the lunchroom and judge people, loudly. I never heard her say anything about me, but it still rubbed me the wrong way, you know?”

Simmons furrows his brows. “And you still had sex with this girl?”

“Let me finish! So one day I was skipping this test, and there she was, smoking a cigarette by the flagpole like it was nothing. She called me over—I didn’t even know she knew my name—and we started talking. Turns out she wasn’t a total bitch. She just acted like that in front of her friends. We got to talking about movies and shit, then all of a sudden she invites me over to her dorm.”

Tucker’s head slowly lolls forward until he’s locking eyes with Simmons. “Don’t tell anybody, but the thought of us having sex didn’t even cross my mind until she pressed right up against me in the door.”

Another smattering of clouds floats across the sun, dropping the temperatures. Simmons’ skin didn’t seem to get the memo.

“You? Not thinking about sex? That’s believable,” Simmons forces out the joke even though it’s kind of hard to speak right now.

Tucker doesn’t seem to have heard him. He’s looking at Simmons, but his eyes are far away. “I catch on pretty quick when she starting rubbing against me, and I realize, shit, this chick doesn’t even have a bra. I didn’t, uh, have the _best_ binding habits back then, so it got hard to breathe pretty fast. Her hands were everywhere. Under my shirt, on my ass, right over my fucking dick. I’m serious, dude. She had these long, killer black nails and she dragged over my crotch right through my pants. I thought I was gonna die in the best way.”

Tucker uncrosses his legs and lets them splay out. Simmons is still sitting in front of him, so Tucker’s legs flank him on either side. 

“Then she went under the underwear and got those claws on my dick.” Tucker’s legs splay wider as his voice gets darker. “Yeah, she was a bitch. But she was a bitch who knew how to give head like a pro.”

The fire blazing underneath Simmons is raging so hot that he’s honestly amazed he hasn’t disintegrated yet. Guys tell each other sexual conquest stories all the time. Simmons knows this because he’s been an eavesdropper more times than he’d like to admit. But this isn’t a couple of buds trading stories to one-up each other. This is something else entirely, and Simmons doesn’t know whether the electric current in his chest is excitement or dread for what’s to come. 

When Tucker reaches out places a hand on his thigh Simmons is proud to say he doesn’t flinch. Maybe, in the back of his mind, he was expecting this. He should have the moment his cock twitched in his army-issues sweats at hearing Tucker’s husky voice wax poetic about claws on his dick.

The hand moves further and further up until it’s right _there_ , but then it stops. The first thought in Simmons’ mind is that he’s being played with, but the look in Tucker’s eyes banishes the thought. There’s an uncertainty underneath the heat turning his brown eyes inky black. A question unasked.

Simmons takes in a shallow breath and exhales a shaky, “ _Yes_.”

That must have been the right answer because in zero seconds flat he has a lap and mouth full of Tucker.

Tucker’s lips are soft plump where they’re slotted against Simmons’ own. When Tucker slips his tongue passed his lips to trace the roof of his mouth Simmons jolts and almost bites down on it. Tucker laughs, the vibrations buzzing where their lips are connected, but Simmons’ is already too far gone to feel embarrassed.

When Tucker pulls away and climbs out of his lap Simmons’ barely chokes back a disappointed whine. He really _does_ choke when Tucker maneuvers himself on his knees and starts tugging at the waistband of his pants and underwear. Simmons lifts his ass and helps push them down until his cock springs free and slaps against his belly. He’s already painfully hard and they’ve barely even started.

He braces himself for some crude commentary on it that Simmons has already analyzed to death. Instead, Tucker reaches out and wraps his fingers around it to give an experimental tug. Simmons shudders from head to toe.

“God,” Tucker says in a near-whisper, glassy-eyed and open-mouthed. “I knew you’d have a big dick. It’s always the quiet ones that have big dicks.”

Simmons’ face flares hot again just as Tucker leans down to lick it. He makes a face like he doesn’t like the taste, then spits on his hand and gives it a series of sharp tugs that wrench a strangled cry from Simmons’ throat. The next time he goes down he takes the entire head in his mouth.

The scorching wet heat of Tucker’s mouth is the best thing he’s ever felt. Simmons thinks he could _live_ in it—live in this moment where slides slow and dirty over his dick while his tongue does impossible things to his slit.

“Oh,” is the only semi-coherent thing his muddled mind can conjure. “ _Oh_.”

Long fingers rub at his balls as Tucker pulls off to take a breath. Simmons almost loses it right there at the sight of Tucker, sweat at his temples and mouth wet with Simmons’ precome and his own spit. He looks filthy, wrecked, and it takes all the willpower he has not to grab a fistful of his hair and beg for more.

Dark brown eyes stare up at him. Simmons has to think he doesn’t look half as good as Tucker does right now. Sweaty and red and already on the precipice of coming like the very virgin Tucker pegged him as.

Tucker drops his cock and leans back on his haunches. Simmons groans but Tucker silences him with a shake of his head.

“Nah, nah, not like that. You gotta earn that shit. I don’t suck dick for free.”

There’s such an easy set-up there, but Simmons doesn’t want to jeopardize his chance of coming in the next couple of minutes so he stays quiet. 

Tucker maneuvers around until he’s gotten his own pants down. He’s not wearing underwear— _of course_ he’s not wearing underwear—and before Simmons even draws in a breath he’s got a hand between in his own legs.

Tucker licks his lips and tilts his head up to look into his eyes. “You ever suck cock, Simmons?”

He hasn’t, but if there’s one thing he prides himself on it’s being a quick learner. 

He scrambles until he’s on his belly in front of Tucker. His pants are twisted around his knees and his cock rubs uncomfortably against smooth rock. He’s hyper-aware of Tucker’s eyes on him. Anxiousness bubbles up in his gut. _Test anxiety_ a stupid voice in his head whispers. This isn’t a test. As much as he feels like he’s being judged right now.

He takes a steadying breath and runs his blunt fingernails up Tucker’s exposed thigh. That earns him a shiver and a tiny “ _Oh_.”. He drags his hands up until he gets to the center where he can smell the thick of Tucker’s arousal. Slowly, he uses two fingers on his hand to spread Tucker’s lips. His breath catches at in his throat as he looks at Tucker’s dick, hard and wet and almost purple with need.

“C’mon, Simmons. Either eat it or leave it, but don’t just play with it,” Tucker comments playfully, the breathless edge to his words betraying his cool. “Wait, actually, I take that back. Play with it.”

A spike of heat flushes over Simmons’ face. He tears his eyes away from Tucker’s cock to glare up at him only to stop on a dime. Tucker’s got the same shit-eating grin that makes him look like he’s just done something awful and gotten away with it, but it’s strained. Despite the flippant facade, it’s clear to him that Tucker’s as affected as he is right now. The thought makes him spurt precome across the smooth stone underneath and confidence surge up in his veins. 

He shucks off the last of his doubts of his prowess and bends down to swipe his tongue from hole to dick experimentally. Tucker gasps, his thighs snapping up to box in Simmons’s head. His legs splay open again on a moan as he teases his hole with the tip of his tongue and answers with a moan of his own.

He didn’t tell Tucker, because there are some things that are too embarrassing to talk about, but slathering hair gel across his bristly red hair wasn’t the only thing he’d done to prepare for his big night with Sasha. He’d gone to the library and Googled ‘ _how to give head_ ’ hunched over the public computer and looking over his shoulder like the dirty perv he felt he was. He came out of there forty shades redder and twenty listicles wiser.

He didn’t get to use that knowledge of Sasha, but Tucker’s not a bad consolation prize.

Shifting up for a better angle he retracts his tongue a bit for firmer strokes and traces the letter ‘a’ over Tucker’s dick. Then ‘b,’ then ‘c.’ By the letter ‘f’ Tucker’s fingers are fisted in his hair and tugging him down until Simmons’ chin and lips are sticky-wet. The pain in his scalp tingles all the way down to his toes, and isn’t _that_ an interesting thing to learn about himself?

Tucker twists and lifts his hips up as he tugs Simmons’ face down harder. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , oh, _fuck_.”

The coarse curls at Tucker’s base tickle his nose as he buries his face in further. He flattens his tongue and strokes the thick girth of Tucker’s dick, then sucks it into his mouth. Tucker makes a noise like he’s been shot (and he would know, he’s heard Tucker get shot before) and _keens_. The noise is hot and loud and needy, needy for _him_ and the things Simmons can do to him, and it gets him so hard he thinks he might pass out. 

It’s all so good, but his lungs are starting to burn. He pulls away to gasp for breath and feels a surge wicked pleasure as Tucker whimpers needily. He reaches beneath himself to strip his own cock with the knowledge that he’s not going to last long like this.

Tucker pushes at his shoulders roughly. “Ugh, get up. Get _up_.”

Simmons scrambles to do with Tucker tells him with the little blood still pumping to his brain that he has. They’re both on their knees in front of each other, hard rock digging into their exposed knees. It’s not comfortable, but Simmons doesn’t have the mind to think about comfort when Tucker bats his hand away and starts stroking him.

“Do me,” Tucker says breathily. Simmons doesn’t have to be told twice.

He reaches down and slots Tucker’s cock between his middle and ring fingers. He’s slippery wet and dripping in a way that makes it difficult for Simmons to keep him a good rhythm. Tucker’s increasingly erratic moans tell him the lack of finesse doesn’t matter right now.

His orgasm hits like a freight train, quick and hard and out of nowhere. His hips stutter and his head lolls back as Tucker strokes him through it. All the tension he’s been crying since crash-landing on this stupid planet spills out on his strangled moan. After the world comes back and his vision stops swimming he realizes he’s never felt lighter.

Some of his come has splattered across Tucker’s hand on his abs. His cock gives a weak twitch that’s more pain than pleasure.

Tucker hasn’t let go of his cock, but his free hand joins Simmons’ where it’s buried between his leg. “Come on, Red, don’t make me beg for it.”

Simmons finds he _does_ want Tucker to beg for it, but the thought is too filthy for his current state and he’s always been a pleaser.

He jacks Tucker off and his cock gives another weak twitch as the wet sounds fill the empty space. Tucker lets go of his dick and brings both of his hands to Simmons’ wrist, holding him still. He’s riding his fingers now, mewling and grunting and crying “Oh fuck, fuck, Simmons, _fuck_ —”

Simmons watches in wonderstruck awe as Tucker’s full-body orgasm hits him, stretching him out and then folding him over his arm until it’s the only thing holding him up. 

He did that.

He made Tucker come undone.

Tucker gently pushes Simmons hand away and then collapses back against the floor. His pants are still around his thighs and his already sweat-soaked tank top is now plastered to his body. His dreads fan out around him as his eyes slip closed. There’s something picturesque about him, like a painting in a museum. Simmons watches openly and tries to commit every aspect of it to memory.

Exhaustion creeps into his bones and he crawls over to collapse next to Tucker. He doesn’t close his eyes, just stares up at the jagged rock roof of the cave and wonders what the fuck just happened.

“If you tell anybody about this, I’ll kill you,” Tucker pants, voice light despite the threat in his words.

Simmons licks his lips and catches the lingering taste of Tucker around his mouth. His cheeks and chin and are still sticky. He doesn’t move to wipe it off. “Yeah. I know.”


End file.
